


One Night Stand

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For tf-rare-pairing, basically some sticky porn I wrote during breaks at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night Stand

Springer flipped him onto the berth in a show of casual, easy strength that set First Aid’s fuel pump guttering, landing on top of him, one hand on the berth by his  head.  He grinned down for a klik, before dipping in for a kiss, his mouth gentle yet demanding.  First Aid felt the mass of the larger mech’s chassis against him, as his own sensitive fingertips sketched along the armor seams, where orange met green. This was unbelievable: he and Springer, really, and he had to keep reminding himself it was really happening. 

Springer gave a guttural sound of pleasure, as he pulled away from the kiss. “Don’t have to go any further,” he said, even as his EM field licked against First Aid’s, aroused and shimmering.

“I want to.”  First Aid really, really wanted to, his entire system humming and alive just being near Springer.  His hands clutched almost desperately at the chassis: he’d never be a hero, never be anything like Springer, able to look death in the face fifty times a day and not get rattled. This was as close as he could come: to cling against his frame like this, violence and danger like a shimmering aura spilling over him.

“You sure?” Springer’s consideration was poignant, almost sweet, some desire not to force himself when and where he so easily could: he had mass advantage, skill advantage over First Aid, who knew his way around a surgical suite, but that was about it.

But First Aid wanted this, so badly he could barely speak, only trusting himself to nod, one hand trembling as it shyly slid down Springer’s hip.

“All right.” Another quirk of that smile First Aid only knew from holovids, and the mouth met his again, Springer’s large, silver hand exploring his blocky chassis, the hip twisting under First Aid's own, emboldened touch.

Springer moved, the mouth leaving his and blazing a white hot trail down his chassis, the large hands curling under his thighs, pushing them apart. 

No. He couldn’t want to…could he?

He certainly seemed intent on it, the green helm tilting up, blue optics glittering at him as the mouth nipped the plane of First Aid’s pelvic armor.  First Aid quivered, feeling his interface equipment give a staticky sort of tingle in response, even as the rest of him tensed, nervous. No one had ever…you know…done that. Not to him. 

His interface hatch clicked open, after a teasing little flick of Springer’s glossa against it. He felt a push of warm air from Springer’s ventilation systems against his exposed equipment, and then the warmer brush of the glossa around the rim of his valve. First Aid squeaked, his hips jumping up.

A soft chuckle from Springer, and the glossa gave a quick dive into the valve, enough that First Aid felt his calipers jolt at the sudden intrusion, and a warm leak of lubricant.

Springer gave a contented hum, glossa giving an almost delicate swirl around the fluid-wet mesh, optics lidding. Exactly as if, First Aid thought, he was enjoying it. 

Springer.  Was. Licking. His. .......

He couldn’t even make the sentence in his head: it was almost too much just seeing the sweeping arc of the green helm between his small thighs, feel the large hands splayed over his hips as they undulated, overcome with sensation. 

“Please!” he gasped, fingers scrabbling over the silver hands laid on his body.  He couldn’t take this: it was too much, way too much, all that attention focused on him.  He could feel the pressure almost like a weight, when all he wanted was to be good for Springer.

Springer moved, surging forward: the whole mass of him moving, huge and graceful, mouth glistening with his valve lubricant, parted in an expression of half-wild desire as he planted one knee between First Aid’s legs, the green blade of his greave bumping at the join of his thigh just before his spike pushed its way into First Aid’s valve. 

First Aid groaned, hips arching up, opening the angle to accept the spike’s girth, his hands turning into claws against Springer’s broad shoulders.

Another pleased, lopsided grin, as the spike seated itself as far as it could in First Aid’s valve, and then began moving, slowly, gently, along it.  First Aid could feel a tremble in the armor under his hands, as Springer moved, charge building through the triple-changer’s system, fuzzing against him. He could feel Springer fighting it, pushing it back, keeping the pace inexorable and slow.

“You can…harder, you know,” First Aid ducked his head, feeling his facial plates heat. In his fantasies, he was so bold, demanding: in life, he couldn't even make himself say things without making them seem hopelessly vulgar.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” Springer said, the words strained and tight with effort.

“You won’t,” First Aid said, his optics bright blue and yearning as he turned them up to Springer’s face, his hands tugging at the larger frame, one thigh wrapping tentatively around Springer’s green hip frame.

He saw Springer’s mouth twitch, as though considering, and then a hand scooped down, hooking under his knee, tugging it up, curling First Aid’s back into a bowl, as he speeded up the tempo, moving to shorter, sharper thrusts.  Springer’s optics went distant for a moment, before he bent down, tucking his head against the top of First Aid’s, his ventilations hot huffs of air down First Aid’s helm. 

Springer enveloped First Aid: his bulky frame covering him entirely, his spike possessing him, his smell and the sounds of his sliding actuators filling all of First Aid’s sensor feed, and First Aid let himself be lost in all of it, letting go of his small self, his small life, his small needs. 

A groaning, shuddering sound that seemed to vibrate through them both, from deep in Springer’s frame, transferring sound and motion and sensation through contact, lifting First Aid up in a strange, prolonged, shuddering overload, that seemed to hold him on the brink of ecstasy, like a small thing adrift, battered by desire and pleasure and want and need.  He could only distantly feel Springer overload against him, the heat and the slickness and pressure of the sudden jet of transfluid, the almost gasping cry mashed into his helm, Springer’s body straining against his. 

A long moment, and Springer sighed, sagging down and off to one side, even now, in the last throes of overload, conscious of his size, his mass, how easily he could inadvertently hurt.  He propped himself on one elbow, letting one hand trail lazily over First Aid’s chassis as the smaller mech let the last waves of overload ebb from him. 

Springer’s hand moved, one silver finger tweaking First Aid under the chin. “Should let others see your face more often,” he said, grinning, his optics loose and almost drowsy. First Aid had never seen that look on the holovids. It was something special and private that he burned into his memory core. 

First Aid quailed back. “I…just…”

An easy shrug, the kind that exuded a confidence that First Aid knew that he’d never have in a milion years. “'Just' what? You’re cute.” A wink of a blue optic as he moved in, curling closer to plant a playful kiss on First Aid’s surprised mouth, the movement slipping his spike from the valve, so it lay, friction-hot and wet between their thighs. 

First Aid felt his brow cloud, his mouth quivering into a frown. “Wh-why me?”  Because I’m ‘cute’? he thought. He didn’t understand; he didn’t know if he wanted the answer. 

The smile faded around the edges, losing its cocky confidence.

“I mean,” First Aid said, aware he was babbling but unable to stop it, as though the overload had torn down the filter of shyness that he kept firmly between himself and the rest of the world. For exactly this reason.  “You could have anyone here. Anyone. But…you picked me.” The conference was full of medics, more famous and capable than he was. But Springer had chosen him. 

“Think you flatter my chances, First Aid.” The grin returned, a little tired this time, the optics dropping to his hand, tracing a swirling pattern over First Aid’s chassis.  “Maybe I wanted you because you wanted me.” A shrug of the orange spaulders. “I don’t know. I’m no good at that kind of thinking.” He moved again, scooping a hand under First Aid, and rolling onto his back, hauling the smaller mech on top of him. “All I know is not to waste a chance for something good when I see it.” 


End file.
